


When The Dark Comes In

by TheSadisticMunchkin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Angst, Cutting, Drug Use, If you are looking for fluff please go away, Multi, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Suicidal Sherlock, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:50:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSadisticMunchkin/pseuds/TheSadisticMunchkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots in which John encounters and/or saves Sherlock during his suicidal moments</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the line in Sherlock's best man speech that goes along the lines of "He has saved my life so many times and in so many ways." So my head started to go crazy with scenarios.

When John first moved into 221B Baker Street he knew the danger he was going to encounter with Sherlock. He slowly got used to the severed body parts in the fridge and the experiments at 2am. He lived for the cases that got Sherlock knocking frantically on his door. He soon learned to tolerate the times when his flatmate would completely ignore him on the off days where he didn't have a case to occupy him.

 

Sherlock wasn't the picture perfect best friend but Sherlock was the best friend John needed. He just didn't expect the need to be on both ends of the relationship.

 

John was watching crap television when he was given the first sign of Sherlock's problem. It was an ordinary day for them. Sherlock caught a serial killer, called the man an idiot and walked away. Pulled up collars and all. So who could blame him for not seeing the cold dead look in Sherlock's eyes as he passed by John and left the flat.

 

John thought none of it at the time. Sherlock was a man of particular habits and he hasn't been living with him for more than 4 months so everything new Sherlock did was just something John put off as some other strange habit.

 

One phone call from Mycroft told him that he should have payed more attention.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Did Sherlock leave the flat?" 

 

"Hello to you too, Mycroft."

 

" **Did**  Sherlock leave the flat?"

 

John was slightly taken aback by the biting tone Mycroft took on that statement. "Yes he did. A few minutes ago, actually." he responded in confusion.

 

"Find him." was Mycroft's short response and before he was able to reply, Mycroft interrupted. "Listen to me, keep an eye on him. He does this rather a lot."

 

"Does what?"

 

A long sigh came from the other end of the line and John frowned. "Sherlock... John you have no idea how much Sherlock needs you." said Mycroft softly as if he was not supposed to be heard by passersby. "What exactly do you mean?" replied John even more confused than before.

 

"My brother's danger nights are unpredictable. You never know when he will start again."

 

"Danger nights? Do you mean that Sherlock is suicidal?"

 

"Good, you're catching on. Look, before you met him, his danger nights were frequent. Almost twice a week. But I have noticed that since you moved in with him, they have shortened a great deal. This is the first one I've seen since you moved in with him."

 

"So what you're saying is?"

 

"Sherlock needs you. He may not know it but he needs you." That is when Mycroft hung up and John was left to silently sit in the empty flat with only the sounds from the telly to keep him company.

 

He snapped out of his reverie and started moving like clockwork around the flat. He grabbed his wallet, put on his coat and left the flat in a haste. He never bothered to turn off the T.V. John called a taxi and told the cabbie to head to St. Barts. He just knew that Sherlock would be there. He didn't know why but he was following his instincts and they never failed him before.

 

He didn't know what was happening until he was pushing the door that led to the roof open. There he saw Sherlock sitting on the edge of the roof. His legs were dangling and he swung them back and forth like a child on a swing set. As John stepped closer, he noticed a handgun in Sherlock's left pocket and a small knife in his hands.

 

"Sherlock?" John cautiously sat down next to his flatmate who didn't say a single word. He watched as Sherlock's long, thin fingers fiddled with the knife blade but never applying any pressure. The cold wind blew into his hair as he stared into the darkness of night. The gun in his pocket was loaded but untouched. John was about to speak but Sherlock beat him to it.

 

"Have you ever imagined how you'd die, John?" 

 

The ex-army doctor stared at him for a number of seconds before non-chalantly saying "Of course. When I was in the army, I always thought I was going to die there. Probably shot at or something of the other."

 

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully and returned his attention to the knife in his hands. John slowly and cautiously reached out for it. Sherlock did not flinch or try to take it back from him as John took the knife and safely hid it in his pocket. He stayed silent, letting Sherlock clear his thoughts. 

 

"You good?"

 

Sherlock thought for a moment before giving John a brief smile. He expelled a long and exaggerated breath before standing up on the edge. John stood beside him, looking down at the few people passing by below. He glanced at Sherlock only to find out that he was looking at him, analyzing him. John gave him a genuine smile and squeezed his hand. 

 

He led Sherlock off the edge of the roof and they both walked down the stairs and out of St. Barts. John called for a cab and they were silent the entire trip. John stopped them at a small japanese restaurant and ordered Sherlock a nice assorted sushi dish and a small bowl of miso soup.

 

For once, John was the one who watched Sherlock eat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another one of the scenarios in my head that I maybe, sort of, kind of act out alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit short sigh I'll try to make the next ones longer

"It won't be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line dancing."

 

Even months after, that statement stays clear in John's mind. He is aware of how Sherlock copes with stress and how he just copes with anything in general. He knows of every single addiction Sherlock had or is currently having. He shouldn't be so shocked about his drug addiction when he has witnessed it so many times.

 

But losing your best friend for two years does lead you to forget little things like that.

 

It was a lazy Wednesday afternoon in the Surgery. He just finished examining Mr. Blake again (whom has put Dr. Watson in a particularly bad light since their last meeting). He was seriously considering just running up straight to his boss to demand less... peculiar patients. But of course, him being John Watson, he stayed quiet and worked on as usual. 

 

Mary was at a baby shower and he hasn't seen Sherlock in a while so he was, surprisingly, quite bored in his little green office. He tried to occupy his mind by reviewing his regular patients' papers and checking up on them. He grabbed a coffee in the shop next door, created dozens of paper airplanes, tried yet failed to recreate the Sydney Opera House serviette from his wedding, and he was still bored. 

 

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. John put down the, yet again, failed serviette on the table and checked the caller ID. He was a bit surprised and slightly relieved to see that it was Lestrade. He accepted the call and greeted the Detective Inspector warmly.

 

"Greg! How are things?"

 

"John, have you seen Sherlock? I've got a case for him but he wasn't in his flat."

 

John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion but composed himself quickly. "How was the state of the flat? Did anything, other than the usual weird stuff, looked out of place?"

 

There was a short silence on the other end of the line until Greg spoke up again.

 

"Now that you mention it, yeah. I saw an envelope with your name on it on your chair. I didn't want to take it because it wasn't mine but I don't know why he would leave you a note when you're just a text away."

 

John didn't need to hear anymore as he hung up on Lestrade and quickly timed out. He took a cab to Baker Street and before he knew it, he was clutching the little envelope in his hands. He stroked the neat scribble of his name on the front that was written in Sherlock's block handwriting. 

 

His hands were shaking as he opened it and revealed the note Sherlock left for him;

 

**Dear John,**

**You will always be the bravest, wisest and kindest human being I have ever had the pleasure to meet. I hope you and Mary will have the most amazing time in the near future... even if it is without me.**

**Your... best friend?**

**Sherlock**

 

John then heard a small thud come from the bathroom as he finished reading the note. He swiftly stuffed it in his pocket and ran unceremoniously to the bathroom. He knocked on the door, barely hearing himself calling Sherlock's name.

 

"Don't do this to me you fucking idiot. Don't you dare do this to me." he scolded his friend behind the door who did not respond in any way.

 

That was what terrified John.

 

He barely registered dialling the ambulance and giving the details in a shaky voice before he rolled his sleeves up.

 

"I'm kicking down the door, Sherlock! Stay with me!"

 

With all the strength he could muster, he crashed his shoulder to the mahogany surface. John gritted his teeth as the impact stung. He tried one more time and this time he was successful.

 

The door opened and his eyes scanned the bathroom for any sign of his best friend. He finally laid terrified blue eyes on the bathtub and the limp hand barely holding on to a blade hanging at the side. With a speed he never thought he had, John leapt over the scattered pieces of rubber bands and used needles and got to Sherlock.

 

He lifted the consulting detective by his armpits out of the tub and into the narrow hallway.

 

"Sherlock... P-please stay with me. Don't die, please. Don't do this to me." he muttered as he pressed a torn cloth from his t-shirt on to Sherlock's bloody arm.

 

"Don't die, Sherlock, please!" He ran around the kitchen to find the first aid kit under the sink and quickly treated the scars on his arm. 

 

He was able to wrap a bandage around one arm before the paramedics came around. His vision was blurry as he watched them carry Sherlock on to a gurny and out of the flat. He barely registered a shock blanket draping over his shoulders. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the kind face of Mrs. Hudson guiding him back to his chair. 

* * *

 

Sherlock only woke up a few days ago and he was finally okay with eating food. John sat by his side, making sure Sherlock ate every bite of the meal set on his lap. It was a slow process which took almost 2 hours but John was happy that Sherlock was getting some food into his system.

 

A week later, Sherlock was let out of the hospital. John walked by his side, keeping a close eye on him. He stayed with Sherlock in the flat, without needing to ask permission from Mary. She knew.

 

He made sure Sherlock ate the right amount of food, slept the right amount of hours and was kept away from any substance that would lead him back again. Sherlock may not say it but John knew that he was angry at him for saving him again. John knew that he just wanted everything to be over. But John also knew that he couldn't just leave again. 

 

He couldn't do that to John again.

 

So he stayed strong for John. He ate whatever John put in front of him. He even slept when John told him to. He had to do this for John. 

 

But that didn't stop him from longing for an escape.

 

Sherlock looked up from his laptop to his friend, who was reading the newspaper in his chair. He tilted his head slightly to the side and sighed. "You should have just let me sleep, John."

 

"It wasn't your time to sleep yet."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, if you want me to write anything, just let me know :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sentiment is found on the losing side. Sherlock should know first hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry it's a bit OOC. I wrote this secretly during class ;)

Today.

 

Why did it have to be today?

 

He watched all the nurses and doctors milling around, minding their own businesses. Mary's contractions started 5 hours ago and in a few more, a healthy baby girl's cries will be heard. Little baby Watson will be in the arms of her mother soon enough.

 

Sherlock couldn't help but feel jealousy and grief wash over him.

 

Of course, he shouldn't be feeling like this anyway. What he had with her was a mere act to please his parents. He only agreed to it because he had no other choice. He shouldn't be grieving. He shouldn't care at all for the child that was never born. Why does he care so much? Why does it bother him so? 

 

He really doesn't understand anything anymore.

 

Sherlock was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't see John running up to him with the brightest smile he's ever seen. Sherlock put on his best fake smile. He couldn't be sad on this day, as much as he wants to. "She's beautiful, Sherlock! I just can't believe I'm a father now."

 

Sherlock couldn't help but give John a genuine smile, even if it was just for a split second. This is what he would have been if his son was born. Maybe less enthusiastic but... happy nonetheless. "That's great John." he said automatically with his fake smile back on.

 

He just wants to leave.

 

"Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes? Your wife wants to see you both." 

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John who smiled only wider. "John, please tell me you didn't"

 

"Of course I did."

 

"Please, John."

 

"Oh come off it, Sherlock! You knew we were going to make you the godfather. Even you should have thought that as obvious." 

 

"But why me?"

 

"Why not you?"

 

Sherlock, for once, did not have an answer to that so he let John drag him into Mary's room. He knocked on the door softly and pushed it in quietly.

 

"Give her a shot, Sherlock." pleaded John and Sherlock did not have the heart to say no. "Alright." he finally relented and walked slowly to Mary's bed.

 

He watched as the two new parents cooed over their child and he couldn't help but grit his teeth and look away. He would have done that. Even if it was with a woman whose name he doesn't remember. He was taken out of his thoughts when Mary's soft voice called to him.

 

"Would you like to hold her, Sherlock?"

 

That was enough for him to lift his legs and run away.

 

He didn't know what he was doing for once and his brain was going haywire. His thoughts were bursting at the seams. His breathing was erratic and his vision was a a blur of colors. 

 

**I _'m so sorry, Mr. Holmes but your son... he died in childbirth_**

****

**_She died along with your child._ **

****

**_I'm so sorry for your loss._ **

"No! No! STOP!" 

 

Sherlock pushed his bathroom door open, how he got back to his flat in one piece he has no idea. He opened his cupboard and with shaking hands, he pulls out a sonogram.

 

He stroked the sides of the picture with his thumb, his vision blurring with tears. "Why?" he quietly asked himself and the baby that never was. 

 

He subconciously reached for the bottle of sleeping pills and opened it with a rough hand. He lifted the clear blue pill into the dim light of the bathroom and smiled sadly. Sherlock filled his palm with ten more sleeping pills and turned the tap on.

 

"They won't need me. I'm just going to end up scaring the little girl. They're lucky they even have her."

 

He was starting to mutter nonsense now. He couldn't think straight anymore. He couldn't bare to hold the baby in his arms. He couldn't take having to listen to it laugh or cry without the reminder of his own child never doing that. He couldn't look at the happy family without remembering his failure.

 

That's all he was.

 

"Goodbye, John." he whispered to himself as he started to dry swallow one pill. 

 

The door burst open before he was able to swallow. He felt a familliar warmth surround his hands and lift him up.

 

"John, p-please just..." his voice cracked with each breath as he shakily got up to his feet. "Do you now see w-why I find sentiment foolish? John, let me do it."

 

"Not today, Sherlock. For me, just... stay with me."

 

Sherlock looked at John's caring face and nodded slowly. 

 

**For you... It was always for you.**

 

"F-for you." John smiled and led him out of the bathroom and into the sitting room. "Sherlock? Dear, are you alright?" came Mary's voice from the doorway.

 

"Mary, you're not supposed to be here." Sherlock reprimanded her in a whispered voice.

 

"Sherlock, you're just as important to me as John. Now sit down, I'll make you a cuppa." 

 

"Your baby?" 

 

"Sleeping in John's room."

 

"They let you out early?"

 

"I can be very persuasive."

 

Sherlock smiled as Mary kissed his forehead and John draped a blanket over him.

 

"If you ever feel this again... Do not hesitate to let me know. I'll be here." John said while sitting in his chair.

 

"You said you will never let us down. Let us do the same for you." he patted Sherlock's knee with a determined nod. Sherlock let himself accept their help and wrapped the blanket around him tighter. 

 

After drinking his tea, Mary went up to John's room and returned with a small pink bundle in her arms.

 

"Sherlock, would you like to hold her?" The taller man looked over to John who only nodded in encouragement. 

 

Mary handed the baby to Sherlock, who stroked the small tuft of blond hair on its head, promising her silently that he will always be there for her like John was to him.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sherlock gets angry at John for saving him from his attempted suicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of prompts to fill. But I would like to say thank you for reading these one-shots so far! I wanted to see more of Sherlock's danger nights for a long time and I couldn't find any that satisfied me. I'm so glad that there are people like me who feel the same :) 
> 
> Warning: slightly more graphic but not so much

 

Sherlock woke up in a daze. There was something up his nose and something sharp stuck in his arm. He tried to move around but a fire spread throughout his torso causing him to open his eyes in alarm.

 

He looked around frantically, barely bothered by the sudden brightness of the room.

 

Hospital. He was in a hospital.

 

He tried to scream but he couldn't find his voice. He pulled on the IV needle connected to his arm. He gritted his teeth when he realized that his attempt was once again a failed one.

 

Suddenly, he heard cautious footsteps from the door. He knew those footsteps. He knew the exact click of the heel. 

 

And for once, he was not glad to hear them.

 

He started to thrash in his place. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout at John at the top of his lungs. _**Why? Why couldn't he just let him do it? Why couldn't he just let him die?**_

 

His bloodshot eyes set on John as he entered the room, his anger boiling up inside of him. **How dare you?** He wanted to ask. **How dare you do this to me? How dare you save me?**

"Sherlock, calm down! You're heart rate should not be strained!" said John running up to the heart monitor.

 

**I don't care! Just let me die, John!**

 

"Sherlock, please stop this!" John frantically tried to calm him down but Sherlock did not budge. John had enough of it and called nurses and doctors to help restrain him. A flurry of white coats and masked faces later, he felt the stab of a needle on his arm which made him feel immediately drowsy.

 

He was starting to panic now but he couldn't move. Sherlock looked towards John, who looked more hurt than he was. He pleaded John with his eyes but the ex-army doctor only looked away and sighed in defeat. He felt the sinking feeling of utter betrayal as sleep finally consumed him.

* * *

 

Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently, watching the agonizingly slow tick of the clock. His hands were gripping the handle of his teacup so hard that with enough pressure, it would break.

 

"Be good, Sherlock" came Mrs. Hudson's voice from downstairs and he stood up quietly. He closed his eyes to listen to the click of the front door and slowly made his way to the bathroom.

 

He finally opened his eyes once he felt the smooth ceramic surface of his sink. He stared at the dark eyebags forming and the chapped lips. His breath was short and ragged. His hair was messier than ever and he was shirtless. He traced the bullet scar on his abdomen with one long pale finger. 

 

He opened his cupboard and pulled out his secret stash. John knew of the other stash but no-one ever found out about this one. This stash consisted of way more lethal drugs and half of them weren't even legal in this country. Sherlock took out one needle of heroin and a brand new rubber band. 

 

He smiled sadly at the familliar feeling of the needle in his hands. He put the toilet cover down and sat down heavily. He reached into his trouser pockets and pulled out an army knife.

 

He stroked the sharp blade for a few seconds and pressed the blade to his stomach. He pushed deeper and deeper until finally, he felt the warm trickle of blood on his fingers, painting the white canvas that was his skin with an angry shade of red.

 

He didn't even wince as he made the second scar even bigger than the first and left it there to bleed onto the toilet cover. He reached for the rubber band and wrapped it tightly around his elbow. He waited until he was even paler until he released his hold on the rubber band.

 

Grabbing the needle, he pierced his skin with its sharp point and shot up. 

 

His pupils dilated, his breathing calmed and he let out a sigh of relief. Sherlock never felt so calm. He knew that he will succeed this time. John wasn't here. Mrs. Hudson wasn't here. Heck, even Molly couldn't get in the way now. It was just him and the impending darkness. Each shot of Heroin felt like a stab to the heart yet it sent an odd sort of peace. 

 

He was finally going to leave this world that hated him.

 

Three shots later, he was starting to get dizzy. Like with Alcohol, Sherlock got drastically affected by drugs easily. Contrary to what people believe, he could actually die with 5 shots in his system no matter what type of drug he's using. He grabbed a few sleeping pills and downed 5 of them in one go. This would help him for sure.

 

As he was about to be enveloped by the waiting darkness, he heard the door swing open.

 

And there stood John.

 

Sherlock saw red and stood up from the toilet, his eyes bloodshot and shining with angry tears. "John. Leave. Now." he said through gritted teeth.

 

John only stood his ground which made Sherlock even more livid. "I mean it, John. Leave." he said calmly but his anger was boiling inside him, ready to burst.

 

"No, Sherlock"

 

That was when he grabbed the front of John's jumper and pushed him out of the bathroom. He stumbled slightly but his strength doubled as he pinned John to the ground.

 

"Let me die, John." he whispered angrily into his ear, his palms sweaty and his legs shaking.

 

"I won't let you do this to yourself, Sherlock." was John's determined answer.

 

Sherlock felt the effects of the drugs and sleeping pills kick in and he let go of John, whose jumper was stained red with his blood.

 

"Go away, John. Please just let me die." He was starting to tear up now. The drugs making his eyes wet and the cuts he made on his stomach were making him dizzy. 

 

"I won't let you." John was beside him in a flash with a set of bandages and disinfectant. 

 

"No!" he tried to push the doctor away but that only resulted in a greater determination from the other end.

 

"John, fuck off!" he screamed but John only came closer and tried to dress his cuts.

 

"John let me die!" he screamed over and over again until his throat was hoarse but he continued to scream. He wanted everything to be over. 

 

"John... please..." his voice was distant and thick with hot tears. The last thing he saw was John helping to lift him up on to a gurney and a mask placed on his face.

* * *

 

He woke up again in the same hospital room as before. He still felt angry at John for saving him again. Why does he keep doing that? Doesn't he know that he's suffering? Why can't he just let him go already?

 

"Sherlock." 

 

He turned his head around and saw John sitting in the chair beside his bed. "You." he said in a strained voice.

 

"Yes, it's me." said John with a sigh. Sherlock glared at him and shifted slightly in his place, only noticing the bandages wrapped around his middle. 

 

"How could you?"

 

"Sherlock, we've been over this."

 

"I didn't want you to!" 

 

"But you didn't need to."

 

"Yes, I did John! Don't you see? This world hates me! Soon enough, you'll give up on me and so will Lestrade, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson. I am hopeless, John. I don't belong in this world. Why don't you just let me die?"

 

He started breathing heavily and he noticed throughout his rant, he gripped the sheets until his knuckles turned white. John reached out a hand to cover them and Sherlock was too tired to move it away.

 

"Sherlock, if you died... I wouldn't be able to live with myself anymore. I can't lose you. You're my best friend... I need you more than you could possibly imagine."

 

Sherlock was stunned speechless. He forgot about how much John, for some reason, cared about him. John was the one who helped him so many times yet... he didn't realize why. He was too blinded by the thought of dying that he didn't consider the effect he would leave. The effect he would leave on John.

 

"Why do you care so much anyway." he asked in a soft voice, still with a light bitter tone.

 

"Why shouldn't I care? You're my best friend and I can't stand the idea of you leaving me... without saying goodbye." came John's heartfelt reply and Sherlock stared at him for a brief moment before sighing. "John..."

 

"Do this for me, Sherlock. Please."

 

**For me**

 

"Always for you." he replied softly and John's smile was brighter than the room. He liked seeing him smile, he supposed. He liked the feeling of making John smile.

 

Maybe he should do it more often... Make John smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I have a tumblr account. If you want to prompt me something go to my tumblr: summersnitchdani and click on the tab that says "Ask me Questions" You can be anonymous if you don't have a tumblr :3 (It's Sherlock themed wow what a surprise) I'll accept only prompts I get on tumblr from now on :) It's easier for me to compile all the prompts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started a landslide in my ego  
> Look from the outside  
> To the world I left behind
> 
> In the world I left behind  
> Wipe their eyes, and then let go  
> To the world I left behind  
> Shed a tear, and then let go...
> 
> \--A Day Without Me by U2
> 
> Sherlock wants to jump and leave the world but John, Molly and Lestrade are here to get him back up. (Set after The Blind Banker because no one talks about The Blind Banker)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay for this chapter :( I was busy with other writing stuff for school. If you hate me go ahead and say it, I will take it in stride. And it's kinda short sorry.

  
_I started a landslide in my ego_  
 _Look from the outside_  
 _To the world I left behind_

_In the world I left behind_  
 _Wipe their eyes, and then let go_  
 _To the world I left behind_  
 _Shed a tear, and then let go..._  


\--A Day Without Me  _U2_

 

The cold wind whipped through his hair as he took each daring step towards the hospital. The click of his heel echoed in his mind each time he put it down. Sherlock's hands were shaking. His whole body racked with shivers. He didn't wear his scarf nor his coat today. All he wore was a plain grey shirt, one of John's jumpers (the ugly Christmas one because that was the first one he got when he reached into his dresser) and an old pair of black Converse shoes. At this moment, he looks  _nothing_ like William Sherlock Scott Holmes, the greatest and only consulting detective.

 

No.

 

He's just a broken man.

 

Each footstep brought him closer to the roof. Closer to freedom. He unwrapped his arms around himself to look at his scarred arms. John never saw them. He always wore long sleeved blazers and that damn coat. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists tightly. If John couldn't notice them then who would? He was just nothing to the world. He was nothing but a tool they use every now and then if the screw doesn't fit. He was just a man built up by his ego and each day was destroyed until he was left with nothing but... just a man. An ordinary man with thoughts of another world who would accept him. 

 

He stepped on to the edge of the roof of St. Bart's. The cold and biting wind did he breathe in. He closed his eyes, pretending that he was a kite. He wanted to let the wind take him anywhere it wanted him to go. He could pretend to be a bird, a newborn bird who only wants to fly. And fly he will if he takes just one more step.

 

It's just one more step. 

 

_Just take it and it will be over_

 

Sherlock opened his eyes to see the buildings of London looking down on him. He was high up but not high enough. He stared into the distance as he was just about to take that first and only step to oblivion...

 

"Sherlock no!" 

 

He snapped his head around to see the one person he didn't want to see. "Molly..." he started to say until the door burst open with two more men flying out of it. "Sherlock" came Lestrade's whisper and John only looked at him with those big, blue, pleading eyes. 

 

But today, he won't let those eyes get to him.

 

"Sherlock, take my hand. You need to get down from there." His ears followed the voice, he now wasn't sure who said it and took the outstretched hand. It was rough yet gentle and he knew it to be John's. "That's right, Sherlock, nice and easy now." Lestrade help him sit down, which was difficult as he was shaking uncontrollably from the cold. He clung on to John's jumper but the owner of said jumper discovered the angry red marks littering his pale arms and lifted them to his lap. 

 

"Oh Sherlock... why do you do this to yourself?" was Molly's tear filled, thick voice as John traced each red streak with a gentle finger. "Because" came Sherlock's whispered response. "Because what?" asked Lestrade who kept a firm hand on his shoulder. John didn't look up yet as he was still tracing the marks of Sherlock's hatred for himself. 

 

It stung him more than it should. It felt like he was the one who took the blade and made those marks. He never noticed them and he hated himself for it. Why did he ever think Sherlock was fine? Why did he  _ever_ think someone as put down and pushed around as Sherlock would ever be fine. He knew not everyone was as strong as him but he never knew that was just a façade. A façade that he does not ever want to see again.

 

"Because I'm disappointed in myself. Disappointed in the life I live. Disappointed that I ever deserve such... hatred." That was when John looked at him. Impulse cupped his face. He stared into Sherlock's ever changing eyes and whimpered internally at the pain and loss he found within them when he would normally see confidence. It was not impulse that urged him to press their foreheads together. It was not impulsed that moved him closer to those chapped lips.

 

But it was Sherlock's hands weakly pulling him closer that made him kiss him.

 

He broke away sooner than he wanted but the content smile he saw on Sherlock's face was enough to peck him on the nose. "Sherlock, tell me if you feel this way again okay?"

 

"Okay."

 

"Not only tell me but Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson... even Myrcroft. We all love you more than you ever know." Sherlock looked up at him and the hands that balled the front of his jumper. It was the beige one he wore when he shot that man for him. He smiled at the memory and at that moment he realized that he wanted to make more memories with John. With Molly. With Lestrade. And even Mycroft.

 

He wanted to make good memories.

 

"Okay." said Sherlock but his voice was still hoarse. John ran a hand through his sweaty curls and lifted him up slowly with the help of Molly and Lestrade. "You'll be alright, won't you Sherlock?" asked Lestrade and Molly nodded with worry filling her brown eyes. "Not all the time." was his final response be fore he let himself be directed out of St. Bart's and into a cab. 

 

"Sherlock?" Molly poked her head and hand into the open cab window. "Yes, Molly?" he answered, feeling the exhaustion seeping into him. 

 

Molly opened her mouth as to say something but quickly shut it. A silence came until she finally decided to say "Stay safe." And Sherlock smirked that familiar smirk and squeezed Molly's hand. "I can't hold on to that promise." Molly laughed and squeezed his hand back. "That's my Sherlock." and she brought her hand and head out of the car and waved goodbye.

 

They were silent for a while until John broke it.

 

"You're sleeping in my room tonight."

 

"Okay."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooo yeah that wasn't as good as my others but I still updated :D Also I didn't look over this yet so spelling or grammar mistakes may be EVERYWHERE. Once again, if you want to prompt me, go to my tumblr summersnitchdani and go to my ask box :) 
> 
> And this was the first one I did with actual Johnlock... it feels really nice to stray away from the canon story lines. Tell me if you want more!
> 
> *Sherlock's voice* Laterz!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has been watching Sherlock since he was a child. He watched him degrade himself to drugs and self harm. All he could ever do was watch.
> 
> Guardian Angel AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am sorry for the delay but I didn't have any prompts so I put this aside for a while. Also I started watching Supernatural and all I could think about was Supernatural. So... please don't kill me.
> 
> Warning: There will be descriptions of blood

His only job was to watch him. Watch his progress and to never interfere unless absolutely necessary. He was in no position to question such orders and that was what he did. 

 

Although he was not accustomed to feeling, he almost hated the fact that he couldn't interfere. Sherlock was unstable. He was reckless. How could he just watch him fall to pieces? As a guardian angel, shouldn't he protect his charge? Apparently that wasn't the case.

 

"Sherlock, don't do anything stupid while I'm gone." called Mycroft as he was getting ready to go to God knows where. 

 

 **_He won't answer_ ** John thought as the 16 year old Sherlock continued to fill out his early college application. He was clever enough to get in at such a young age. He never called it luck for Mycroft was able to do the same, only at an even younger age.

 

As predicted, Sherlock grunted and signed the papers with an exagerrated flourish. John rolled his eyes in fondness. The front door closed downstairs and Sherlock turned his head around to listen closely to the click of his brother's umbrella fade into the sidewalk.

 

"I thought he'd never leave." joked John, rolling on to his stomach lazily. Of course, Sherlock didn't hear him. The angel sighed and flapped his wings to ruffle his feathers. Sherlock leaned back into his chair and sighed deeply. John knew what that sigh meant. He knew the meaning of every move Sherlock does. 

 

Sometimes, he wished he didn't. 

 

"Oh, Sherlock. I hate when you do this to yourself." he mumbled as he followed his charge's movements. He stood up on those impossibly long legs of his and walked to the bathroom. John sooned reappeared next to Sherlock as the curly haired teen fingered the newly acquired blade in his pale hands.

 

John reached out to touch him but retracted knowing that it wouldn't make a difference. Sherlock breathed in deeply and held it as his shaking hands pressed the blade to his scar littered skin. He let out the breath he was holding, watching the trickle of blood stain the bathroom floor. 

 

John felt tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he helplessly watched Sherlock continue to cut. Each cut easier than the last. "Please stop..." whispered, begged, John. He repeated the same two words like a mantra out loud, hoping against hope that maybe Sherlock would hear him.

 

Suddenly the glasz eyes that were so focused on his blade looked up in confusion. John freezed. **Did he hear me?**

 

"I'm out of my mind." he heard Sherlock mumble and he stood up without question and washed his arms. He winced at the sting but continued to clean his skin. John watched in curiosity as he cleaned himself up. "Did you hear me?" asked John yet knowing that Sherlock wouldn't answer. Sherlock paused again and looked directly at John. "Do you see me?" asked John quietly. 

 

His charge tilted his head slowly, looking like a confused puppy. John opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock beat him to it. "Am I not allowed to see you?" he asked in a small voice. John reached his hands out, longing to pull him flush against him, his wings protecting him from the outside world.

 

Without another word, the broken teen placed his hand on top of John's and the angel delighted in finally feeling the warmth radiating from his hands. "I can touch you." whispered John tracing the patterns on Sherlock's hands.

 

Sherlock didn't question him. He didn't ask why he was here. Somewhere deep down, he knew. 

 

He knew John was here to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's short. I just wanted to try this AU out. Comment what you think and thank you once again for reading :)


	7. Hallelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe there's a God above  
> Through you, he tried to teach me love  
> A long and winding road that lead me to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ: I know that I'm not clear on my updating schedule but I was hooked on Supernatural the past few weeks. I finished Season 6 and I just wanted a break from the drama for a bit. So what did I do? I wrote my own drama. I'm such a fucking loser. 
> 
> Anyway, I saw this parody of Hallelujah (It's beautiful and I want to stab myself repeatedly on how beautiful it is) and it inspired me to write another one shot on the GuardianAngel!John AU. The song was originally for Destiel but dammit it can be applied to Johnlock if you squint so tightly that your eyes roll back. 
> 
> Enjoy this abomination.

He watched from above, wings flapping lazily by his side. His blue eyes watched each move, every breath he counted, every blink those glasz eyes made. The stab of the needle against his pale skin impaled him more than the one below. He wanted to reach out and touch his tear stained face. He wanted to heal the wounds that littered his beautiful yet broken soul.

 

Yet, he couldn't.

 

Father said he was not ready.

 

John's heart continued to ache for the man with the brilliant mind. He wanted nothing more than to defy his father and hold Sherlock in his arms until his soul was healed into the perfect form he was born with. But he only watched from above, feeling guilt as if he was the one to slice his skin or push the drug into his blood.

 

He heard a soft flap of wings and sat beside him was his fellow angel, Molly. She was originally supposed to be the one to watch over Sherlock but Father saw that John was better for the job. Molly was assigned a man named Tom. 

 

"Something troubling you, brother?" Molly's sweet and concerned voice made him sit up to swing his legs over the cloud they are on. "You know full well what troubles me." he replied, heart clenching still at the sight below him. Molly followed his gaze and sighed. She remained silent for the next few minutes, allowing his brother to mull over his own thoughts.

 

"Where is Tom? Are you not supposed to watch him?" asked John, clearly trying to avoid the subject that pained him. "He is graduating college at this very moment. He can look after himself for a few hours." The red-haired angel replied, waving her hand dismissively. John sighed in frustration for Molly's charge was doing fantastic. A graduate with a bachelor in Mathematics, money, and a family who loves him.

 

Why can't Sherlock have the same?

 

Molly glanced down at the crying man that John watched over and placed a comforting hand on her brother's shoulder. "Why don't you go to him?" she asked rubbing soothing circles on his skin. "Father... he feels as if I'm not ready. But ready or not, can he not see that Sherlock is suffering?"

 

"Father has his reasons."

 

"Yes well his reasons suck."

 

Molly raised an eyebrow at her brother, placing her hands on her hips. "Do you doubt our Father?"

 

John saw that his sister might actually smite him at this very moment. He held up his hands in surrender. "No, I don't."

 

"Then why do you question him, so?" John glanced down again and fell silent. He fiddled with the feathers of his wings, clearing his head. "I just want to help him." he finally said quietly, looking up at Molly again. His sister smiled sympathetically and let John lay his head on her shoulder. "You will in due time." she said, kissing his temple before dissapearing in a flurry of wings.

 

The question was, when will that time come?

 

* * *

 

 Sherlock traced the fading and new scars on his pale skin, glancing up as another, darker hand traced alongside his. His caresses were gentle and filled with such care. He held Sherlock like he was a porcelain doll, with the slightest touch, he could crack and fall broken to the floor. He glanced up at the concerned face of the angel and laced their fingers together.

 

"What's wrong?" asked Sherlock as John's wing pulled him in closer, so close that the mortal man was nearly flush against his angel's strong chest. John's thumb stroked the back of Sherlock's hand and he was still staring at the long scars that littered his form. "I just wish I came sooner." he barely whispered but Sherlock still heard it.

 

"You came anyway." The dark haired detective replied, rolling his eyes affectionately. "It doesn't matter now." he added, following his angel's gaze to his arms. 

 

John stared at him as he pushed his hand through Sherlock's long curls. "You still tried to leave me. You still tried to kill yourself. It definitely matters." he said seriously, carefully avoiding those piercing glasz eyes that held the pain and anguish within. 

 

"All your life, I have watched over you. I watched you fall apart and I barely came in time to piece you back together. What do you mean it doesn't matter?" John ground his teeth in frustration, wings wrapping around Sherlock's shoulders protectively. Sherlock allowed him to vent. He was silent as John tried to regain his breathing. He knew that the being who held him in a firm yet caring embrace needed to let all his anger out.

 

"Please don't do that again. You have no idea how much pain I went through. Please please don't do this to me again." John's other wing went around him, cacooning him from the world. Sherlock only nodded and clutched the fabric of John's soft, white shirt. 

 

Only then in that moment did John finally understand why his Father never let him go down earlier. He was unstable, reckless and overemotional. Sherlock needed a firm hand to bring him away from the darkness. John was not ready before but he damn well was ready now. Losing Sherlock would be like losing his wings.

 

He wouldn't be able to cope without them. 

 

He stroked Sherlock's hair as he hummed a lullaby to soothe him into sleep. "I'll watch over you." he said as Sherlock's eyelids fluttered closed for the first time in days.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was absolutely painful to write. Anyway, please tell me if you liked this piece and if you want me to write something for you. 
> 
> Frankly, I don't have anymore ideas so if you have a headcanon or prompt that has been bothering you go ahead and send it to me here or go to my tumblr summersnitchdani :)


End file.
